


how to win (despite yourself)

by curiouslyfic



Series: how to win (despite yourself) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie knows he's only got Draco until Harry makes his move. Just, Charlie's gotten attached now and Draco's not easy to give up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to win (despite yourself)

**Author's Note:**

> For thepretender501 on okydoky's "Everything But..." comment meme.

Charlie's not an idiot, he knows he's got Draco _for now_ , quite probably until Harry Potter gets his messy head out of his arse and makes his move. Charlie's told himself repeatedly that's all right; he's fine with what he's got, he's not expecting more.

No matter how much Charlie thinks he'd enjoy it, no matter how well they seem to fit.

If anything, he thinks he ought to count himself lucky to have what he does, which, to be fair, is rather more than he'd expected when he'd let Malfoy pick him up that night at the Hog's Head, all sharp smiles and hot stares and Malfoy's fingers toying deliciously with the rim of his glass, talking to Charlie about work and actually laughing at a few of Charlie's more ribald dragon-keeping tales.

So it's going well, he thinks, in that they're actually getting on all right, sorting themselves out companionably even when they're not in bed--which, yes, was something of a surprise at first--and Charlie knows all Draco's irritating habits just like Draco seems to know his, so they're in that muzzy state just past _honeymoon_ , where it's not all frantic, restless shagging and gormless eyes when they're in the same room.

Actually, if anything, it's what Charlie wants in life, someone to come home to without feeling _tied down_ and such, someone who's fine to spend time on their own when he gets busy but who'll still give a toss if Charlie's away too long.

So Charlie's as near to settled with Draco as he's going to get, waiting for that Harry Potter shoe to drop and trying to distract himself with the day-to-day so he won't waste what time he's got imagining how horribly it might end.

And frankly, he thinks he's doing all right with it. Mostly.

Then Harry stops by Charlie's place one night while Draco's stayed late at work and maybe won't stop by at all and Harry looks so _serious_ , Charlie knows.

Hears himself dimly offer Harry tea, because that's how Charlie was raised, and all Charlie wants to do is escort Harry off his lawn, make it clear Harry's just not welcome here. Not if...Well.

"I thought I should explain myself," Harry says slowly once Charlie's handed him a cup and honestly, Charlie's sure he doesn't want to hear the rest of that thought.

"No need," Charlie says brightly. He sort of hates himself just then. Harry lifts his brows.

"Erm, no, I really think I should. Because I'd hate for there to be trouble between us over this." Incredibly, Harry tries a smile. Right then, Charlie hates him, too.

This is the best thing about dragons, them never fucking with his mind. If they mean to hurt him, they make it clear they do, none of this popping over to his _home_ one evening for _tea_ and mindfuckery like this.

"No trouble," Charlie says, tight even to his own ears. "Why should there be?"

Because if this is Harry making his move, Charlie's of the mind that the least he can do is be honest about it, say as much to Charlie's face. Can't do a thing about speculation, right?

Harry looks at him strangely and sets his cup down. "Because I know I've been staring and I shouldn't, I know that, I just can't help myself." Harry looks away then, has to clear his throat and sort out a friendly smile. It looks dimmer than it has. "Malfoy's made it clear I'm to keep my eyes to myself."

That's...surprising. "Did he."

Harry nods. "Very clear, yes. Because you're in a, hrm, committed relationship and he's not having me muck _that_ up for him, too, I believe he said." Harry sort of scrunches his face, can't seem to figure out how he wants to look. It's odd. Charlie's not sure what he's meant to do with that, any of it, only there's something warming about Draco maybe saying _that_ , calling it a relationship proper and not just the nameless thing they have. Like maybe it's more than getting into each other's robes and having a free pass through each other's wards and having a laugh at the end of a long day.

"Right." Charlie turns his confusion on his cup, doesn't think it'll help his case at all if Harry catches him baffled by what Draco's said.

"Anyway, I thought I should apologize. For the staring. Which I won't...well, at least, I'll try to restrain myself in future. If you're happy here?"

Charlie's gaze snaps back up at that, how tentative Harry sounds. "I am, actually. We are." Then he thinks about Draco brusque and prickly and telling Harry off and, well, that's nothing but gormless eyes and a dopey smile. "Really happy."

Harry's a bit wild-eyed then, desperately trying to find _something_ to stare at somewhere in the room. "Well then. Glad to hear it."

That sounds like Harry giving in, feels like a reprieve Charlie hasn't honestly thought he'd get, and the same sense that's been nagging at him since he'd let Draco Malfoy bring him home that night at the Hog's Head won't let him relax yet. Not...not _yet_.

Because really, that _can't_ be it, can it? Resolved this quick? Charlie hasn't even got a word in yet, really.

"Harry," Charlie says then, blunt and rough and more honest than he intends. "I'll fight for him."

Harry looks...Charlie's not sure. Startled, maybe? Hexed? He looks shocked and soft and vulnerable, visibly shaken up, and Charlie doesn't like doing it when Harry looks like the kid Charlie remembers tagging home with Ron but Charlie also can't take it back. Wouldn't. Won't.

"Right," Harry says in that sort of lost voice. "Of course you will."

And Charlie thinks maybe Harry has more to say, only that's when Draco comes in, pops into the living room and sort of slinks-slides onto the couch.

Onto _Harry_ on the couch. _Their_ couch. Charlie doesn't like that _at all_.

And when Draco's sort of sighed and flung a hand over his face and grumbled, "Merlin, Charlie, I think I'll have to hex them all," in his long-suffering Ministerial employee tone, let himself slump onto Harry's chest, Draco pauses for a long moment and peers up.

"Potter."

There's nothing friendly in that tone. Harry blinks down at him, licks at his lips and tries to wrangle a smile even Charlie can tell he doesn't mean.

"Charles, why is Potter on our couch?"

Charlie thinks maybe he hears a little extra emphasis on the _our_.

"Just stopped by for a visit," Charlie says carefully, because what can he say? The last thing he wants is to tell Draco--stubborn, prickly, independent _Draco_ \--that Charlie's ready to go toe-to-toe with Harry bloody Potter for his time, because for all Harry's said Draco's warned him off and such, Draco hasn't called it a _relationship_ while Charlie's around.

Probably it's telling how quickly Draco scrambles up, puts space between himself and Harry, but there's still all this tension in the room and Charlie's not sure how things will sort themselves out. On one hand, if Draco's shot him down, Charlie might hear Draco do it again. On the other, Harry looks soft and vulnerable just now and Charlie has the horrible sense that that's appealing. Possibly.

"Came to apologize," Harry says, terse and tight. "I should go."

Charlie means to say, "No, wait, finish your tea," because for all else Harry Potter is, he's one of Mum's boys now, too, and has been for years, practically the only Weasley without ginger hair, only Charlie can't quite form the words.

Just as well he can't, really, because Draco does. "Too right you should."

Harry nods once, sharpish, and stands. Casts one last look at Charlie, long and full of things Charlie doesn't want to see in those eyes, and then he's off, murmured thanks for the cuppa barely audible in the pop of Apparation that takes him away.

Which leaves Charlie with Draco, who's looking at him like there's some great rage on the boil, eyes all hazy-bright and focused, mouth pinched and pursed.

"You let him in?" Draco asks carefully, a trap of a tone.

"Some reason I shouldn't?" Oh, Draco doesn't like that. Charlie feels himself settle for a fight, because there's still so much unsaid and...Well. They're both of them too stubborn to get on all the time and they're neither of them delusional on that score. "He said he'd been to see you. Nice visit?"

"Lovely," Draco sneers. _Sneers_. Charlie wants to tease it gone, lick that curl off Draco's lip just because he can. Right now, he needs to know that much, sod whatever else they'll leave in the air tonight. "I mean, who doesn't want the career security of tearing the Boy Wonder a new one in the Ministry, yeah?"

Charlie feels his eyebrows creep up his forehead. That's not where he thought this was going. Or maybe that's how Harry'd made his move, one last grasp at a bicker that got out of hand. Charlie can believe that, he's seen them fight. Practically a shag right there. "Huh."

If anything, that works Draco up more, gets his prickly-combative and knotting himself frustrated fists. "That's it? That's what you've got? _Huh_? I have Harry Potter _in my office_ stammering his way through _gormless eyes_ because apparently, someone's told him we're not as _together_ as all that and the best you can do is _Huh_? Charming, Charlie. Really."

Then Draco shakes his head and seethes at the wall. Charlie's uncomfortable in the trousers from that tone, the pissy-prickly way Draco tells him off low and rough. Nothing polished in it at all, none of the political maneuvering Charlie's heard him use verbally flaying the minions at work, just the sound of Draco personally engaged.

"What did you say?" Charlie asks. Draco looks back at him, tightens his jaw and flexes his fingers like he's trying to uncurl his fists. "Because I told him I'd fight for you."

Draco studies him carefully, fuck knows for what. "I told him he was barking up the wrong tree."

"Did you." Then Charlie's up and moving, stalking across the room, moving in on Draco like he's a Horntail in a snit. "Why might that be, I wonder."

Charlie fucking loves how Draco flusters then, the colour that moves across his cheeks as he hollows out a breath. He's not moving away or anything, just sort of standing by the couch and watching Charlie, open-mouthed, and it's so easy to angle in, get brash and cocky an inch away. Just now, Charlie feels more powerful than he has outside the preserve in ages, like he can have anything he wants for as long as he likes.

Heady stuff, that.

"Charlie, I..." Draco starts but that's as far as he gets before Charlie's snaked a hand up to cup his jaw, hold that face still so Draco can't look away, compose himself, maybe get his defenses up again. Charlie's spent too long worrying about that, waiting for the day Draco sorts out how very much he wants a go at Potter's arse, to play nice tonight.

Fine and all to run Harry off but he needs to hear the words.

"Does it have anything to do with _our_ couch?" Draco swallows. Charlie rubs his thumb slowly over Draco's mouth, teasing him silent while Charlie decides what he wants to do first. "Because I think I'd fight for that, us having an _our_ couch. No, I know I would. Just, I can't be the only one."

This close, he can see Draco shiver at the words, the calm, steady tone. Draco's eyelashes flutter low, a dark fringe brushing the tops of his cheeks; Draco's chin dips slightly, angles Draco's face into his hand like that's all the touching Draco will allow himself just yet.

Where's all that fight gone, he wonders, because he can still feel Draco bristling-jittering through his robes, can feel Draco trying so hard to hold himself still. "Something on your mind, Draco? Something you'd like to share, perhaps?"

Draco flushes hard then, looks up at him through that fringe of lashes with such resolve, Charlie feels it to his bones.

"I did," Draco says, hot and rough, and Charlie can already feel the kiss, the way he'll dig into Draco's mouth properly, lay himself a claim. "Weren't you listening? I _did_ fight for you." Draco smiles thinly. It does delicious things to his mouth. "Might I remind you, _I_ 'm not the one who invited him in for tea."

That's it, then, Charlie's in and on Draco's mouth fucking rabid, crushing that pouty lower lip that drives him spare, licking at it and catching it between his teeth, biting down harder than he means and sucking it like a sweet. Draco doesn't fight him on it, thank fuck, just stands stunned a moment before he's angling, too, getting his hands up on Charlie's neck, fingers digging in like there's some chance Charlie plans to pull away.

They're not soft with each other normally but they're very rarely this sort of rough and Charlie _knows_ he should pull back, ease off, let Draco catch his breath, only Charlie doesn't want to let go yet. He wants to know that everyone who sees Draco tomorrow understands there's somewhere he belongs, someone who will absolutely stake claim to all the sharps and angles that make Draco Malfoy: Reasonably Functional Adult, and more than that, _fuck, more_ , Charlie wants to see himself-- _this_ \--on Draco tomorrow. Wants to watch Draco's mouth sucked flush and swollen, obviously well-kissed, like he wants to feel Draco's fingerprints pressed into his skin while he's out on the preserve come morning.

Kissing Draco is the sort of thing Charlie sometimes thinks he could do for years, heady and good and addictive in its way, and he's had more than his share of shags just kissing while they've got their hands wrapped around each other's pricks, getting off on the tug and the feel of Draco's mouth, the little sounds he makes. Not happening tonight; Charlie needs more.

So he takes.

Possibly he's rougher than he means to be, tugging Draco's chin up, exposing Draco's long, pale throat, but Charlie settles in to bite-suck over Draco's pulse, lick long, wet stripes along the sensitive bit just under Draco's ear. He doesn't realize he's fisting Draco's robes with the hand he hasn't anchored on Draco's jaw--which, Draco's sucking his fingers like they're cock, Charlie may not actually get all their clothes off first, that's fucking _incredible_ and it's not even _new_ \--until he feels something give.

End of those robes, then. Charlie is _fine_ with that.

Draco's not little, he's a grown man and mostly, it's hard to spot the age difference, but Charlie's a bloody dragon keeper in fine Seeker form; when he wants, he can get Draco off his feet without giving it much thought at all. He's thinking about that, worrying the skin at Draco's throat because he needs to _see_...and Draco's making this strange hiccupping sound and clutching at Charlie's back, pulling at Charlie's robes like he means to tear them off, and Charlie needs to pin him up somewhere, give himself more room to move.

This, he feels, is why they have walls.

Draco's robes are laughably thin, so fucking easy to remove, and he's doing wicked things with Draco's collarbone when they topple over the couch, Draco squirming and tugging and fighting to get at him, too. They don't last long on the couch, just sort of slide off in a messy tangle of limbs, and Charlie thinks maybe he hears something break but sod it, he's got better things to do than worry about whatever _Reparo_ 's required.

To hell with it, the floor's just fine.

Draco grinds and worms and _moves_ against him, which is just sort of short-circuiting his mind, and Draco tugs him up by the hair to have at his mouth, too many little gasping sounds and furtive cursing while Draco tries to rub off on Charlie's thigh.

Charlie doesn't realize he's speaking until Draco bloody whines and knots his fingers in Charlie's hair and says, "Yes, yes, of course you, who else would I..." and it occurs to Charlie he should maybe pay attention to whatever Draco's responding to. Only, he's got all that _Draco_ robeless and pinned and it's just too tempting to leave marks, to pinch those rubber pink nipples, rake his nails down Draco's chest. Draco fights to get a hand on Charlie's robes and when Charlie realizes that's what the insistent tugging is, he snares Draco's wrist, Seeker-swift, and lifts it up to tease the edge of his teeth over Draco's pulse point.

Fuck, the sounds that tugs out of Draco's throat. Charlie needs to hear those more.

"Charles, Charlie, anything, just..." Draco says, bright-eyed and hot, and there's something blown about his face that makes Charlie feel like the most powerful man alive. Then Draco shiver-shudders into him with another unbelievably hot sound and he's panting frantic, "Let me, just let me, _please_ ," and worming his whole body against Charlie's, trying to tug his wrist free and blatantly berating the fact that Charlie's still dressed. "Please, I need..." Draco starts and Charlie cuts him off with a look.

"Oh, well, if you _need_ then," he baits and spells his robes gone, just like that, and Draco tugs at his wrist again, begs so prettily to be allowed to _touch_ without a word, that Charlie lets his wrist go.

Draco's eyes close. The sound he makes is very close to a sob. Charlie works his way across Draco's face, open-mouthed contact he can't quite call a kiss, slow and rough and toothless until he's back at Draco's mouth, because apparently he hasn't done enough to that yet.

Merlin, it's so red now, so hot, flushed and spit-slicked and swollen and all the more suckable for it.

Draco kisses back, tongues at Charlie's teeth and sucks on Charlie's lips, licks and teases until he's slipped past Charlie's guard to suck Charlie's tongue through light, happy hums. Charlie leaves him to it and grinds his erection into the crease of Draco's thigh, careful-so-careful not to give Draco enough friction to get off yet.

There's the bite of fingers turned possessive on Charlie's arsecheeks--fuck, what those long fingers do to him is just unreal--and the knock of knees as Draco shifts beneath him to give Charlie room to frot and Charlie could just sink in right now, stay for ages in this warm, pale skin, watching it bloom flushes and bruises and fingerprints everywhere Charlie's been.

If he wanted, right now, he could keep Draco hovering on the edge all night, leaving them both adrenalin-wired and twitching-arching greedily into each other like they can't help themselves.

He's sure he leaves finger smudges on Draco's hipbones holding him down, equally sure Draco loves it by the way Draco moves, pushing up insistently, impatiently, but not even trying to shake the grip. The dips and hollows down Draco's chest aren't particularly obvious to Charlie's mouth, not like they usually are, because Charlie bites his way down Draco's body in random drops, lips brushing the taut skin over Draco's rib cage, dropping a wet, open suck on the soft flesh between Draco's navel and a hipbone.

Draco must understand that Charlie doesn't want him to move yet, Charlie wants Draco all spread out and waiting for his hands, whatever Charlie wants to do to the man who's driven him spare for ages and who's run off _Harry_ in defense of their bloody couch. He's so hard already, wet even before Charlie gets his thumb down to swipe over Draco's cock-tip, and when Charlie makes hand-to-penis contact, Draco's hips snap up.

"Fuck, Charlie, _come on_ ," Draco says, his head thunking back against the floor.

"Mine," Charlie growls then, which makes Draco laugh high and tight. "Say it."

"What, yes, of course yours, git," Draco manages, words stumbling out, and that's it, all Charlie needs to hear to have him mouthing Draco's cock, sucking hard and ruthless on the tip and working his hand on the shaft. He bloody loves what that does to Draco's voice, breaking up all his words in pitched, needy sounds as Charlie abuses the things he's picked up since that night at the Hog's Head.

It's rough and sloppy, him sucking Draco in more, and he'd be hard-pressed to call it _erotic_ gagging when he first tries to get Draco's cock down his throat, but Draco's rucking up with his hips impatiently and when Charlie swallows twice, Draco can't even get the whole of Charlie's name out.

Charlie means to tease him a bit, draw it out, make it _good_ , but he finds he can't wait, too keyed up tonight, and he means to hold Draco's hips down so he can take control, only Draco sort of whimpers when Charlie's thumbs press in and when Charlie looks up, he's pushing on a mark. He's done that. _Him_ , and that's just better than anything, hot as fuck.

He sucks ruthlessly, muzzy-headed for lack of air and absolutely not giving a toss, and his hands go roaming up Draco's sides, soaking up the heat of him, skimming Draco's ribs because just now, Charlie can't feel enough. Draco makes more of those gorgeous noises and he smells _so good_ , sweat and sex and _him_ , and he's got his hands on Charlie's head, toying-tugging Charlie's hair.

Charlie honestly couldn't say which of them makes the move to link their fingers but he feels the bite of Draco's nails in the back of his hand, Draco's fist curling to press them palm-to-palm. The things Draco's saying hit like spells, _mine_ and _fuck_ and _please_ and Charlie's name, rough and raw, straight to Charlie's dick. At this rate, he'll rub one out on the floor right there between Draco's legs, off whatever friction he can find; he'll be _seconds_ if he gets a hand down--ten, maybe, if it's his own, less _so much less_ if it's not--and the only thing stopping him is that he'd have to stop touching Draco first.

Then he's touching Draco's mouth, stretching up to let Draco suck two fingers in like Charlie's sucking him and when Charlie hums contentedly, he does it straight to Draco's cock and that's it, apparently, that's all Draco can take.

He arches up and gasps, probably draws blood clutching Charlie's hand, and Charlie can't stop sucking on him, swallowing fast and petting Draco's lip, pushing his fingers back into Draco's mouth as soon as it sounds like maybe Draco's caught his breath again.

Draco's shiver-sensitive and sort of petting Charlie's hair, murmuring things Charlie can't quite hear, rocking-squirming under Charlie's mouth.

"Enough, fuck, Charlie, up," Draco says, breathy and firm, and Draco's tugging at Charlie's hair again, trying to get him back in kissing range probably. That's, well, that's the shagged out tone, that's normally what that means. Charlie lets Draco's cock slip from his mouth, soft and wet, and nuzzles his face into Draco's belly for a sweet, messy kiss.

There's loads about Draco Charlie likes but he thinks this might be his new favourite thing, Draco tired and happy and all his.

"Weasley, I am serious, let me touch you back." Charlie stares at him, poised so close to Draco's cock the words make no sense and it takes him longer than it probably should to equate that unholy calm in Draco's expression with that resolve he'd seen in Draco's eyes. "I need to touch you back now."

Charlie wants to ask why, only he thinks maybe he's beyond words now because he sort of asks, "Mine?" like he's somehow not sure and Draco shiver-shudders again, seems to feel the word through his twitching cock.

"The marking goes both ways. It has to- I need to touch you, too. I have to watch you come for me, Charlie, I need to feel you _come_. For me. Soon. Preferably _now_. Is that getting through your dragon brain yet or should I find my wand?"

There's a hot flush of guilt then, him mauling Draco like this, just absolutely off his head, and Charlie scrambles up worrying at his lip because he's not sure how he'll make it right. As soon as he's close enough, Draco's got his hands on Charlie's face, pulling him in for a kiss he doesn't get because Draco's murmuring, "No, no, it's fine, I love it, don't stop," and snaking a hand down, angling a thigh, jerking Charlie on the prick-tease side of enough and nipping at his mouth.

Charlie grits his teeth for control he doesn't want and he'd protest beyond his horribly needy sounds only Draco's cupping his face and twisting-tugging his cock and saying, "I want you inside me in our bed tonight," and honestly, Charlie doesn't know which of them's the Side-Along or how they've Apparated without taking a step and frankly, he doesn't fucking care.

Once he's got Draco beneath him on their bed, all he cares about is feeling Draco moving with him, watching Draco's eyes light when Charlie works his prostate, tips him over the edge again.

And apparently he's insatiably skin-hungry tonight because he can't make himself let go of Draco even once he's worn them both out, so they're not just tired and well-shagged, they're a wet, messy heap, and he thinks maybe he should say something, apologize for the mauling and losing his head and such, only when he says, "Draco, I…" Draco's kissing him again, soft and wet, and the words get caught.

Which is just as well, he supposes, because he can't regret a thing.

"Arsehole," Draco says, wry and fond. " _My_ arsehole."

"Yeah, I am." He smiles a little, drops his mouth lightly on Draco's cheek. "Dragon brain and all."

"Works for me." Draco pushes hair off Charlie's forehead, even though it's all damp and plastered down, and it sort of feels like petting, Draco's touch. "You don't have to fight for me, Charlie. I'm not going anywhere. Wizard's Oath, you're stuck with me until you kick me out."

Charlie wants to tell him not to make promises he might not be able to keep. Instead, he hums. "Then I'd get comfortable, were I you."

Evidently, Draco takes comfortable to mean making a pillow of Charlie's chest, one loose-curled fist over Charlie's heart.

They're mostly drowsing, he thinks, all curled up in each other like Charlie thinks they should be, when Draco says quietly, "If you did, though, you'd win."

 _Ha. Take that, Potter_ , Charlie thinks and quite possibly mumbles into Draco's hair.

"Charlie, you pillock, he wasn't here for me," Draco says carefully and Charlie thumbs a mark idly and hums and it's worth the effort of arching a look to watch Draco's smile turn smug. "And he can't have you."


End file.
